


Forlorn

by SilentMemento



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Explicit Language, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, Psychological Horror
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 17:09:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17005713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilentMemento/pseuds/SilentMemento
Summary: An immortal serial killer. Two trainers. A computer hacker. A stowaway. All of them have to work together to find their way off of what seems like a deserted island.Of course, the island has different plans...





	Forlorn

It was a cold, overcast spring night in Eterna City, and freezing rain silently fell to the ground, covering the sidewalks and streets with slick ice. Most of the people in the city were asleep, save for a few lowlifes and drifters. The lights of an otherwise-dingy hovel illuminated one of those few.

 

He was a small adolescent who looked like he had been on the wrong side of the law more than a few times. He was sixteen, but with his slight frame, he looked almost four years younger when one took a first glance. Isaac Rucker didn’t mind that fact; most of the time, it had helped him escape literally undetected.

 

Upon closer inspection, he seemed like the typical teenage punk. He wore a black beanie that covered most of his long dark-brown hair and somber gray eyes, a black short-sleeved shirt with no logos, a black leather jacket that covered the rest of his arms, black gloves made from dyed Mareep wool, a pair of black jeans, and – to the surprise of nobody – black tennis shoes. A ruby stud in his left ear only enhanced the image he tried to project. If a person tried to look deep into his eyes, they would see a tormented soul who had seen too many things in his lifetime.

 

However, if they knew even a sliver of Isaac’s past, they would be stunned beyond words. The Pokemon League Armed Forces – commonly known as the PLAF – had a file on him that was over a hundred pages long, seeing as he was known as the Pastoria Butcher, a notorious serial killer who was rumored to have at least ninety-three deaths linked to him in the current decade alone. There had been many copycats and lunatics that had tried to make themselves look like the infamous murderer, but they had all been caught, while Isaac had stayed relatively anonymous, mainly due to the fact that the public wouldn’t dare think that a mere teenager could commit such gruesome crimes. It was beyond their comprehension, and they didn’t want to think that a child could turn out to be so evil.

 

However, Isaac had never considered himself evil. He knew that he had done terrible things that he believed were reprehensible, but he never thought that he was a bad person.  Recently, he had only killed when he thought that those people deserved it, and when he was with the United Architects – commonly referred to as the UA – he had done evil things for the greater good, or so Lars Boedker claimed.

 

As of now, he wondered whether or not the UA was really working towards the greater good. To him, it seemed like their terrorist actions had served no real purpose. Boedker talked a good talk about how corrupt the PLAF were and how he was going to restore a new world order, but he never talked about what they were going to do  _ after _ they had gotten rid of them.

 

Of course, that mad scientist, Kenechi Ndukwe, didn’t help matters. Isaac had no idea what that young man was plotting, but he knew it would have something to do with the eventual overthrow of the “elitists” and something about “giving power back to the people.” It seemed like typical anarchist Tauros-shit, as far as he was concerned. That damned fool believed in Boedker’s philosophy like a gambler believed in blowing all his money at the local casino.

 

He cleared his thoughts and looked at the hovel that housed his target. He pulled out a safari ball that had recently been polished. He clicked a button, and the capsule opened  in a spectacular display of color and light. When the lights dimmed, a giant purple scorpion had emerged. It was obviously pissed that Isaac had brought it out of its warm haven for this unfamiliar, cold city street, and it made a low clicking sound to signal its disdain.

 

“Drapion, I know you hate the cold, but will you just shut up for a moment?” Isaac said in a calm voice that seemed almost as chilly as the wind that whipped around his face. “Just watch for cops and alert me if any of them stop by this dump. Hell, you can even kill them if you want to; we could all live with one less crooked cop in this world.”

 

The Drapion let out a hiss that seemed to say, “Why me?”

 

“Because you’ll blend into the darkness better than any of the other four Pokemon I have!” the serial killer spat venomously. “Maybe it’s because I trust you more than all of  them? I don’t have the time or patience to deal with this crap, so just do your damned job, okay?”

 

After a moment of silence, the scorpion-like Pokemon finally made another clicking sound of resignation.

 

“Good,” Isaac muttered. “Stay out of sight and try to be inconspicuous.”

 

He turned his attention back toward the hovel, wondering how to get inside without drawing unwanted eyes. He checked the inside of his jacket to see if his knives were still sharp. He drew out a kukri knife and caressed the blade. The Pastoria Butcher always used a knife in his killings. It didn’t matter how high-profile the victim was. Social-class and all of that didn’t matter to Isaac. They all bled out the same way, and they were all equally vulnerable to a swift slice to the throat or a vicious stab to the belly.

 

He loved the intimate feeling that a knife gave him. Getting to know his victims by watching them just wasn’t the same as seeing them show their true colors by begging and pleading with their death looking right into their eyes. They were all the same. They put up shows of kindness to others, but if you threatened them and their families, they would gladly sacrifice their spouses and children so that their lives would be spared. He always tortured those spineless craven and cut them to ribbons. He hated them all. Feeling pity for anyone who didn’t deserve it was weakness, showing kindness to anyone other than a close friend was a sham…and Isaac Rucker was neither weak nor phony.

 

At the moment, he had no choice but to enter as a tame guest. However, he knew that there was going to be blood spilt before this night was through, and it sure as hell wasn’t going to be his own.

 

Isaac sheathed his knife, stepped to the door and knocked twice. He heard mumbled curses as the occupant made his way towards the door. The curses stopped when the handle turned and the door opened up to reveal who the person was.

 

He was a disgustingly-obese man in his early thirties; he looked like he could tip the scales at four-hundred pounds. He had a prematurely-gray handlebar mustache, but little other facial hair complimented it. He was almost bald, and he used a hideous dark-gray toupee to cover it up. He wore ragged clothing that looked like it belonged on a hobo instead of one of the best conmen in the counterfeit business, but Isaac figured that a man like him wouldn’t want to show off his wealth. After all, a person in this business usually made a lot of enemies.

 

The man flashed a small smile with perfectly-white teeth (which disgusted Isaac; nobody’s teeth should be  _ that _ straight and flawless) and beckoned him to come into his shoddy home. The serial killer reluctantly followed.

 

The hovel was as cluttered and messy as he expected it to be. Stacks of fake bills littered the floor, and dim fluorescent lights were the only things that kept the dark at bay. The only clean things were a small sink and several dish towels. Isaac didn’t care much about the deplorable state of affairs; he despised the clean freaks of the world, and he couldn’t understand why they kept cleaning a place if it was just going to get trashed an hour later. Still, he couldn’t justify living in a filthy place like this by choice. The man opened his arms wide, as if he was trying to glorify the shithole he lived in.

 

“Welcome to my humble abode,” the man said in a greasy voice that had a distinct Cerulean accent.

 

“Where is the ticket to the  _ Sea Maiden _ ?” Isaac asked quietly.

 

“You’re too serious,” the man said in disappointment, a frown etched on his misshapen face. “I was hoping to give you a nice cup of hot coffee, but you had to get straight to the point.” He smiled, but it was noticeably forced. “Are you sure you don’t want coffee? I imported the beans directly from Cinnabar Island.”

 

“I’d prefer tea, if you don’t mind,” the teenager stated politely. He didn’t want to show his true intentions before it was absolutely necessary.

 

“Tea?” the fat man said in disbelief. “Tea is for old hags.”

 

“I know that a few gatekeepers like tea as well,” Isaac said dismissively. “I’ve decided to try it and see why there’s so much fuss about it.”

 

“Good Arceus, man,” the conman said in annoyance. “If I had known that a queen was coming to my home, I’d have prepared my bed.”

 

“Pity,” Isaac said in a tone that oozed distaste at the boorish, obvious innuendo.

 

“The only thing that makes you look like a queen is your size,” the man continued in a mocking tone. “Where are your high heels, your Majesty?”

 

“I was just asking for tea,” Isaac muttered, while trying to ignore the bait.  _ Let the bastard have his fun now. He’ll regret it later. _

 

“Like I said, tea is a woman’s drink,” the obese man said crudely. “I don’t have that shit in here.”

 

“You know, most of the sexism in Sinnoh died out in the late nineteen-sixties,” Isaac said calmly.

 

“Where did you read that?” the conman asked. “A book? Bookworm skills get you nowhere in life. Besides, it’s a free country, you know. I can believe whatever the hell I want to.”

 

Isaac struggled to hide a smirk.  _ This idiot doesn’t know who I am. I’ll relish the look on his face when he finds out. _

 

“It won’t be once the PLAF get their grimy hands on it,” the Pastoria Butcher murmured.

 

“So, you’re one of those UA nutters, aren’t you?” the man sneered.

 

“Not necessarily,” the adolescent replied. “I’m simply saying that our…occupations won’t survive a purge from the government. One of their goddamned agents has been slinking around, and I think he’s smart enough to unearth this little setup you have going here.”

 

“He ain’t smarter than me,” the man growled.

 

“His name is Torry Hinds,” the serial killer stated. “If you don’t act now, he’s going to ruin your operation. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but you have something that I need.” Isaac stared intently at the man. “I need that ticket, Seth Davis.”

 

“And what in hell makes you think that I ha-”

 

Before Davis could get the rest of the sentence out, the teenager had the kukri knife to his throat. The look in his burning eyes was terrifying; the room felt as though it had taken on the temperature of a furnace.

 

“Don’t play dumb!” Isaac snarled furiously. He pressed the fifteen-inch blade against the man’s throat, drawing a tiny amount of blood. “You are a goddamned counterfeiter! I’ve personally had enough of your shit! Honestly, do you know who the  _ fuck _ I am?”

 

“Not anymore!” the conman wailed. “What the hell’s with the knife? I thought we were making a business transaction!”

 

“We were until you started to dance around the subject!” the adolescent shouted. “I am Isaac Rucker, for Arceus’ sake! The Pastoria Butcher! I’ve killed more people in my lifetime than you could in five of yours!”

 

Davis paled noticeably and began to cry. “The t-ticket is on the sh-shelf,” he blubbered, tears streaming from his eyes. “D-don’t do anything r-rash, okay? Please?”

 

“Please, sir,” Isaac sneered.

 

“Please, sir, spare me!” the obese man begged.

 

“Good,” Isaac said in a satisfied tone. “You’re getting a hint of the picture. You tell me exactly what I want to know, and-”

 

“I won’t die?” the counterfeiter asked hopefully.

 

The serial killer laughed. “When did I say that?” he said in a too-cheerful voice. “I’ve got a few reasons why I want to kill a fat dumbass like yourself, and you’re going to hear them all before this night is through.”

 

Davis sobbed, and Isaac hit him with a vicious right cross that sent the conman sprawling to the floor.

“Shut your damned mouth!” the Pastoria Butcher spat angrily. “Nobody wants to hear it! Now, before you rudely interrupted me, I was going to say that if you told me what I wanted to know, I’d make sure your death would be quick and painless.”

 

“You can have it all!” Davis cried. “My operation, my money, everything!”

 

“I don’t  _ want _ your money,” Isaac said with all the tact of a flanged mace. “You don’t get it, do you? I want  _ your _ blood on  _ my _ hands.”

 

The fat man was silenced with those cruel words. The adolescent let out a sigh of relief.

 

“Thank you for being quiet,” he said. “Now, let me explain why I want to kill you:

 

“There was a man in Hearthome City that went by the name of Hank Longmire. He was around thirty-seven years of age. He was single, he worked as an apartment superintendent, and he had a seventeen-year-old daughter by the name of Lauren, whom he doted on. Still, there was one thing that made him different from the typical middle-class dad: his wife had died during his daughter’s birth.

 

“Lauren Longmire was hardly anything special either. She liked alternative music and boys, and she constantly worried about her grades and looks. She wanted to be a  _ priestess _ , of all things, when she graduated from high school. However, there was one thing that made her different from the typical teenage girl: she was one of my intended victims.

 

“You see, this was back in the days when I was less…picky about the people I killed. I murdered innocents back then. I was much crueler than I am today. I wanted to see how Hank would react to having his daughter killed mercilessly. Call it a twisted experiment of sorts.

 

“Then there’s you and your buddy, Franklin Foster, both college students at the time. Foster would eventually become a famous rock star.” Isaac paused for a moment. “You two had been out drinking. Foster’s drunk, you’re not, but you decided to let him drive anyway.” The serial killer’s face contorted into a look of pure contempt as he sardonically sneered, “After all, what harm could being absolutely hammered do?”

 

“I-I never thought that…” Davis stuttered before trailing off.

 

“No, you didn’t think!” spat the teenager. He took a deep breath before continuing with his story. “You see, the Ninetales-fire in my heart was burning at the time. I wanted to kill right then and there, but I knew that I would get caught if I did. Therefore, I decided to follow both of the Longmires on one of their nightly walks.

 

“There’s an intersection that separates Amity Square from the rest of Hearthome. There are lights all over the place, so that drivers are able to see pedestrians. Of course, that didn’t matter to a drunkard like Foster. I saw everything. Your vehicle was barreling south from Amity Square at around eighty miles-per-hour. Lauren was directly in your path, while Hank was by her right side.

 

“You hit her dead-on with your muscle car and killed her pretty much instantaneously. You then hit her father with what  _ seemed _ like a glancing blow. The two of you then stopped the car and got out for a moment. I got a good look at both of your faces. Neither of you stopped to call 911, nor did you attempt to help them in any way, shape, or form. Instead, you two got back in your car and decided to flee the scene, while leaving them to die.

 

“I checked on them. I saw that the daughter was dead, that the father was going to die if he didn’t get help soon. I decided to call 911 anonymously and request help for him. I chose to leave after that. I figured that Mr. Longmire was going to die either way, and I didn’t want to explain why I had been pursuing them at 11:30 PM.

 

“I checked the local paper for news, and what I found started a chain of events that has led us to this exact moment. Hank Longmire did  _ not _ die, but he was broken, both emotionally and physically. He was paralyzed from the waist down. As soon as I read that, I felt something that a person of my stature should never feel.”

 

Isaac paused to gather his thoughts before continuing. “Pity,” he said in a disgusted tone. “I  _ pitied _ the man. Not only did he lose his wife, not only did he have his daughter’s life taken away from him, but he would end up forfeiting his own. One day after he was released from the hospital, he committed suicide with the hunting rifle he owned.

 

“That event started my obsession to kill only people that deserved it, and you and Foster  _ truly _ deserved to die. You saw how I killed your buddy. The only piece of him they could identify was his right thumb. I mutilated his face beyond recognition.”

 

Davis let out a soft moan. “But I wasn’t the one who killed her!” he pleaded. “It was Foster! He was the drunk driver, and you already killed him, so why are you going to kill me over that? And why kill me over Longmire? He killed himself!”

 

“You don’t pay much attention, do you, Mr. Davis?” Isaac said coldly. “You  _ let _ your friend drive when he was drunk. You left the scene without lifting so much as one of your fat fingers to help. That makes you just as guilty of murder in my eyes. You drove Mr. Longmire to kill himself by killing his daughter. That  _ also _ counts as murder, even though a  court wouldn’t see it that way.

 

“However, the fact that you killed the Longmires is not the main reason why I wanted both of you dead. You  _ cheated _ me out of one of my targets. You killed someone I wanted to kill  _ myself _ . Lauren Longmire should have been another one of  _ my _ victims, not the only one of yours!

 

“And that’s not even the worst thing you did. You brought emotions into my existence that should have  _ never _ been there. My life was fairly simple: I lived, I killed when the bloodlust took over, and my heart never burned with an agony no person should ever have to bear. You made my life  _ complicated _ . You put pity, regret, and remorse in my mind, and I can  _ never _ get them out. I have a  _ disease _ in me because of you! For this, there is  _ no _ forgiveness. May Arceus have mercy on your soul.”

 

Isaac stabbed Davis through the top of the fat man’s neck, cutting the spinal cord in half with a subtle, yet sickening crack. The strike didn’t even let the conman cry out, as it had killed him instantly. He then ripped the knife down to the man’s groin in one ruthless movement, sending a wave of blood cascading onto the dirty ground. He cut the man’s belly with a deep horizontal slice, and the guts of the man soon followed the blood on the way out of the corpse.

 

The Pastoria Butcher stabbed the dead man’s torso twice and – quite unnecessarily – slit Davis’ throat to the bone of his severed spine, which sent yet another deluge of blood pouring towards the ground.

 

The serial killer was not done disfiguring his victim. He grabbed the mutilated thing that had once been Seth Davis and held the head while he made the mark of his calling card. He created four small cuts on each cheek and slowly carved a large “N” on the obese conman’s forehead. He smirked when he noticed that the ugly toupee that the man had been wearing had fallen off during the attack.

 

Isaac then turned to the sink.  _ Might as well get his filthy blood off of my knife. _ He turned on the faucet, and a steady stream of tap water ran out after a slight delay. The teenager felt a familiar burning agony inside his heart, but he ignored it and continued to wash the kukri with water and a dish towel. When the knife was finally cleaned, he went to the shelf that Davis said the ticket was on. Sure enough, the falsified ticket to the  _ Sea Maiden _ was right on top of a pile of other fake tickets, IDs, and passports, among other things.

 

After grabbing the ticket, Isaac pulled out two more pokeballs and pressed the buttons to open them. A blue seahorse covered in spikes and a volcano-colored, human-like Pokemon with cannons for arms emerged from the lights.

 

Isaac decided to address the fire-type first. “Magmortar, I want you to burn everything that connects me to the  _ Sea Maiden _ .” He then turned to the water-type Pokemon, ignoring the Magmortar’s sadistic grin. “Kingdra, make sure that the fire doesn’t spread.”

 

The two Pokemon nodded and started to destroy the evidence. Isaac walked outside of the residence and recalled his Drapion when he stepped into the rain, ignoring the Pokemon’s greeting. He then whipped out a disposable cell phone and dialed an all-too familiar number. He put the phone to his right ear and waited for a person to reply.

 

“Isaac?” a deep voice answered. “Tell me it’s you.”

 

“Yes, Kenechi,” the serial killer said in annoyance. “It’s me. I killed Davis and burned the evidence, just as you told me to do. Now can you tell me what the hell this is all about?”

 

A pause ensued on the other line. “We have reason to believe that Shanahan is alive,” Ndukwe said quietly.

 

Isaac almost thought that his ears were deceiving him or that Ndukwe was playing a sick joke on him. Dale Shanahan had been one of the original founders of the UA (along with the Johtonian-born Boedker, a Hoennite bank robber by the name of Dustan Kaufmann, and himself), and he couldn’t believe that the bastard was still alive after a shootout against practically every cop and PLAF agent in Kanto. The Celadon native had been the most insane, cold-blooded man that he had ever seen in his lifetime, and the serial killer had seen a ton of those kinds. The man was psychotic enough for Boedker to try to assassinate him, and that was stunning when one considered that the leader of the UA was a violent sociopath in his own right.

 

“Are you absolutely sure?” Isaac asked.

 

“He made a video of himself that challenged any trainer to beat him in a Pokemon battle and posted it on the Internet,” the scientist said. “The voice-recognition system got a match. We’re definitely sure it’s him.” Another pause ensued. “Ever since we killed Kaufmann, you’ve been the most competent of our assassins. Isaac, we need you to find and kill Shanahan.”

 

“There’s bound to be resistance from the PLAF,” the teenager stated calmly. “They want Shanahan dead just as much as we do. I also doubt that the captain of the  _ Sea Maiden _ is going to let a known terrorist on board his ship.”

****

“You’ll be provided with two-hundred thousand dollars in cash,” Ndukwe replied. “Humans are naturally corrupt; he’ll go for the money. As for the PLAF? Don’t leave any one of those assholes alive.”

 

Isaac was shocked that the young scientist was so bloodthirsty, but he managed to hide it by making small talk. “How are your experiments coming along?” he asked in a forced cordial tone.

 

“Not well,” the Sootopolis native answered with a sigh. “I still haven’t found the recover gene in my Cradily.”

 

“I’m sorry,” the adolescent said in a flat tone.

 

“Just complete the mission,” Ndukwe said seriously. The call ended a moment later.

 

Isaac’s Kingdra and Magmortar moved toward him, letting him know that their job was done. He recalled them to their pokeballs and dropped the disposable phone in a nearby trash bin.

 

“So, the Sinnohan founder is going to meet the Kantonian founder once more,” Isaac mused. “This will be fun. This time, Dale, I’ll make  _ sure _ you’re dead.”

 

With those words, the cold-blooded murderer walked down the empty street until the rain and darkness swallowed him whole.


End file.
